Return to Sender: Heartaches by the Number
by QueenCazador
Summary: After her own world has fallen apart, Veronica Santangelo attempts to confront the Courier about her recent visit to the Sierra Madre that has turned her friend seclusive and silent. However, the Courier brought back more than horror stories to tell- she discovered new pieces of Veronica's woeful past, and possibly, her future. Rated T for small use of language. *Contains spoilers*


The Courier sat alone at a window table in the Cocktail Lounge of the Lucky 38. Overlooking miles around the southern tip of Nevada, one could see the contrasting chaos of the post-war world that she knew all too well. The blitzkrieg of New Vegas lights were confined to the Strip, a single street, accessible only to those wealthy enough to afford a passport entry or the soldiers in the NCR base a few blocks down. Surrounding the glamor of the Strip on its immediate walls were the slums and crumbled buildings of Westside and Freeside. The sign for Mick and Ralph's flickered in the Freeside distance, and the courier wondered if their new shipment of special weapons was in. She had a bag of guns from looted Jackals that needed selling, and there was always something good to be traded there if they were low on caps.

She didn't have plans to re-open the casino to the public- well not yet anyway. She had a few more things on her plate to finish before she wanted to think about moving out and moving on elsewhere. There was a battle at Hoover Dam to be won against Legate Lanius, there was a rescued robot named ED-E to be restored, and there was a cryptic trail of clues that haunted the Courier to chase them.

She smiled to herself. What if the casino opened for the first time in over 200 years to the public after the mysterious disappearance of Mr. House? But she didn't know anything about that of course.

She looked back outside, where a mere chain link fence separated the richness of the strip and the poverty of those in the slums. It was a barrier so thin, so taunting, yet still existing to separate those who were considered worthy and those who were not, those who succeeded and those who did not. It made the courier sick.

The image brought her back to her first memory- waking up in a grave. There was a fine line not unlike the fence that she danced on between life and death. It was evident which side she ended up falling on, because her stories were all over the Strip, New Vegas Radio, and just about everywhere else the adventures seemed to take the courier.

But she hated this sense of authority. All she had were her memories from the past ten months. She didn't know where she came from, who her parents were, what her age was, who her friends in the old life were, hell, even her own name. She knew nothing about her past life except the fact that she was a courier for the Mojave Express. She knew that she was one of six couriers to deliver strange small trinkets to New Vegas. But those were the only two shreds of information that she knew about her past life. And she struggled with this every day.

The courier, engulfed in her despair, pulled a corked bottle out of her pocket, and took a swig of the pungent drink. The label read "I owe you one. -Cass" This particular brew of moonshine was a gift from the ex-caravaner after the Crimson Caravan was mysteriously shut down regarding trading policies. But the label only made the Courier feel worse. This wasn't supposed to be her. There was supposed to be someone much more qualified running this gang of misfits, making decisions for the NCR, and being trusted to run New Vegas in a better way than ever before. This wasn't supposed to be her. She quickly slid the bottle back into her leather coat when she heard the elevator ding.

A quick glance to the door revealed a woman in dusty Scribe robes searching around the room. Her eyes lit up when they met the Courier's and she made her way over to her friend's table.

"Mind if I join you?" She asked. The courier shook her head, and motioned towards the seat across from her.

"How's it going Veronica?" the Courier asked the Scribe.

"I'm...well...still here." Veronica answered hesitantly. Quickly trying to change the subject, she added, "But judging from the smell on your breath, it hasn't been a wonderful day for you."

The Courier gave a small smile under the brim of her Zion Ranger hat. "You know I've never been one for drinking." she smirked.

"Well, I brought these for a reason," Veronica smiled, holding two bottles of Sunset Sarsaparilla in her hand, offering one to the Courier. She knew the Courier to be an almost saint-like woman. She never took Jet or Mentats like many war veterans did to ease their pain and their minds. She never hired prostitutes, but instead would go into brothels and nightclubs in order to help them build a new life. She never smoked, and hardly ever drank, which is why the faint smell of moonshine in the air worried the Scribe.

"Thanks." The Courier smiled again. She opened the bottle with the edge of her .357 pistol, her weapon of choice, and couldn't help but let out a small giggle as Veronica simply squeezed her top off with her Displacer Glove.

Veronica raised her bottle. "To the Dam?" She grinned, a contagious feature of hers.

"To the Dam," the Courier agreed, "And to those who will never come home." They tapped bottles and each took a sip before staring in silence out the window to the Mojave below them.

Veronica glanced from the window to the Courier. She gazed at her cheekbones, which seemed more hollowed than they were when they last spoke. Her arms, once simply strong and powerful, now gave off the impression of trying to separate the world from her. She once held her arms by her side, but now, they were crossed on the table. She couldn't see the Courier's eyes directly, and this bothered her.

"Well, since you're not going to be the one to start this conversation up, I'll do it." Veronica sighed. "I just wanted to say thank you. You stayed with me through this whole Brotherhood mess, and while I don't agree with what my family thinks is right-" her voice started to quiver.

...

At the start of her journey in the Mojave after deciding that Hidden Valley could wait a little longer for her supply run, she had begged the Courier to help her find a way to help the Brotherhood survive. The Courier, to her surprise, willingly agreed. They traveled to a shack from the remnants of the Battle of Helios One and from points on a map there, tracked down an Old World gun in a radioactive, ghoul-infested vault. For good measure, they also obtained data from a second vault that could help Hidden Valley create their own supply of food instead of depending on others. They presented both of these items to Elder MacNamara, confident that he would see their point in that if the Brotherhood did not adapt to current times soon, they would not survive.

Yet, to both of their surprise, he refused. His beliefs were carved into the Codex- or rather, the Codex was carved into his beliefs. He would not abandon tradition that kept them alive for so long, even if it meant certain doom. The last words Elder MacNamara and the Scribe spoke to each other rang in her ears, and echoed in her mind at night:

"_But... We'll die out."_

_"... I know."_

She couldn't bring herself to support their traditions anymore, but she couldn't convince herself to forget the only family she ever knew either. She consulted the Courier, who suggested that she put her skills to good use with the Followers of the Apocalypse. There, she could share the knowledge that the Brotherhood rejected.

But that's when everything went wrong.

...

Regardless, she finished her sentence with utmost truth

"...I don't think anyone else could have handled this better than you." She rubbed her forehead, moving her hand down the side of her face, and stroking a tuft of short dark brown hair back into its place under her hood.

The Courier sat in silence for a while longer before answering.

"It means a lot to me Veronica. Your family was made of good people. Misguided maybe, but good. I was going to do all that I could to save them. And in the end, we did. Don't blame yourself for their choice." The courier said, still not making eye contact through her aviators, but looking out the window instead.

"I know this past month has been rough for you," the Courier continued, "with the Followers and all."

Veronica cringed. She had confined herself to the suite for the past three weeks out of depression and fear. The Scribe refused to answer any questions that her concerned companions had about her suddenly reclusive lifestyle. She didn't laugh, sing, or dance anymore. She barely slept because she saw the incident every time she closed her eyes, and when she did, she awoke in tears every morning.

...

She remembered the day vividly. It was Friday, July 23, 2281 at eight fifty-seven AM. The Followers of the Apocalypse had offered her a position in the technical field the day before and she was beyond eager to accept it. Her skills would be put to use for the good of everyone, not the advancement of a single group, and she knew that the Courier was proud of her decision. She remembered walking in the outpost with a beaming smile, ready to begin her new life of service, and ready to leave her old life behind.

That's when all hell broke loose.

The moment her eyes adjusted to the dimly-lit room, she knew something was wrong. The small station was no longer packed with missionaries in white lab coats. It was empty. Empty of people, of noise, of the feeling of safety that one had when surrounded by those who were there to serve them. That's when her eye caught a small wisp of smoke in the air. She traced it back to the ground to a pile of ash. And as she looked around the floor, she could see where more piles of ash lay strewn around the rough flooring.

"Oh no..." Veronica gasped. It felt as if someone had just given her multiple jabs in the gut with a Displacer Glove. Her eyes followed the piles of ash around the station, and the numbers in her head started adding up. Dr. Alvarez, the doctors, the patients, they were all gone. "No...no...no...no...no." She backed into a corner, burying her head into her hands and her guilt deep into her heart.

A small squeak of metal on metal caught the attention of the Courier, and she followed it cautiously, her .357 at the ready, into the sleeping quarters. Behind the opening stood four fully armed Paladins in complete power suits. They accused Veronica of sharing Brotherhood knowledge with outsiders, and would not listen to their protests that they had done no such thing. The Courier could have sworn that she saw the leader smile behind his steel helmet as he sentenced them to death in the name of the Elder.

Veronica barely remembered the fight. She was consumed by rage of her family unwilling to adapt, and finally being accepted just to have it taken away again. It almost seemed to be an out-of-body experience. She punched through their power armor with a fury like none other. When it was all over, Veronica Santangelo looked at the destruction around her, the bodies of the family that she left behind and the remnants of the family that she brokenly came to for help. She fell on her knees and wept.

And in one of the few times in her life, the Courier wasn't sure what to do. She didn't know whether to give Veronica her space, or comfort her. And once her mourning was over, then what?

The Courier knelt beside her, placing her hand on Veronica's farthest shoulder, and her head on her nearest one. The gesture seemed simple, but it was all she could think to do. She pulled off Veronica's hood and began stroking her hair that she hid on a daily basis. After about an hour, Veronica wiped the last tear from her eye, kissed the hand of the Courier, and stood up.

Unsure what to say, the Courier asked if Veronica would like to try again to join the Followers of the Apocalypse. Veronica screamed through her strained voice, "No! There's no way in hell I'd let this happen again…"

She had been let down by her first family, and she had been cut off from the family that accepted her, however short it may have been. _Veronica is the strong one_ the Courier thought, _Not me. I have my banner. I have my place, even if that place is nowhere. Veronica had nothing from what used to be her hopes, her dreams, her life. She's a rebel without a cause._

_..._

Their minds returned back to the moment in the Lucky 38. They both took a sip of their drinks before the Courier finished, "-and I can't overstate how sorry I am about what happened."

Veronica looked off in the distance, then back at her drink, fiddling with the bent cap on the table. She sighed; a sigh of something between longing and peace.

"But that's not why you're here is it?" The Courier noted the silence.

Veronica shifted in her chair uncomfortably. "No." she said, almost as if she snapped back into focus, "Alright, we're worried about you."

The Courier did not break her stare from the window.

"It's just that, ever since you came back from the Sierra Madre, you've been different. I mean, you were there alone for a week, and as soon as you escaped, you stopped by the Lucky 38 just long enough to drop all your stuff off before jumping on some caravan for another week. You wouldn't- you _won't_ speak to anyone. This isn't like you. You always have at least one of us with you. If ED-E tries to lobotomize Rex one more time… they're driving us crazy because they're never with each other! One is always with you! You've just become this... lonesome drifter. And we don't know what to do." Veronica said with more than a hint of worry in her voice.

The Courier looked out to the southeast, towards the mountains with the hidden bunker that lured her to the grandest casino ever built. It was a foolish mistake to follow the broadcast. Even as she heard it in her earlier quests when she flipped through radio stations, she thought it was too good to be true. But the casino pulled her in with its promises of wealth, luxury, and the chance to begin again. She abandoned her companions in search of the treasure alone, and knew something was wrong when the broadcast led her to a small Brotherhood of Steel bunker instead of the promised casino. Yet she continued.

She took another sip of sarsaparilla before resting her head on her hand with a sigh. "You want to know about the Sierra Madre? All right: It was a trick. The biggest hoax in Post-War history. The Sierra Madre never opened. It died the day the bombs went off, along with everyone inside the casino and the villa. I was a part of a sick game where the mastermind of it all was either going to use us break into the casino's vault, or let us die trying. I was fitted with an explosive collar that would detonate if I tried to leave before the job was done. I was pitted against… terrifying creatures… and things that you simply couldn't kill. There was poisonous gas surrounding the entire villa. I have never been closer to death in my life. And it was all a game to this mastermind."

Veronica sat in silence, her mouth slightly agape. The Courier's story sounded like something from a Pre-War fiction movie, but her friend told the story with the face of a sole survivor of a battle, one of emotion, fear, and terror. She knew that this was real.

She paused a moment before asking another question, "So… I assume you successfully robbed this place, seeing as you're here in front of me now."

The Courier still hid behind her head rested on her hand. "Yes," she answered, "The gold is in the trunk to the left in my room. I honestly don't ever want to look at it again."

"Wait, _**gold**_?" Veronica asked, her eyes lighting up. She had seen extremely few quantities of the precious mineral in the Mojave, and what little she had seen was used in extremely small quantities as conductors in the Brotherhood armory repair. "This was no small-scale, pawn-shop, cash register robbery, was it?"

"No," the Courier sighed with almost a nervous laugh, "Not at all. He used me and three others as his strategic chess pieces in order to pull off what he called, 'A Heist of Centuries.' Hell, I couldn't think of a better way to phrase it. Anyway, there are 37 bars in there that I don't want to see again. I'm sure you and Raul can make them into something real nice."

There was silence again, Veronica not quite understanding what the Courier had just admitted. This was the same friend who dragged her into desolate houses on the hunt for a few caps. She never passed up the chance to empty an abandoned drink machine for the few caps off the sodas. Yet here she was with thirty-seven bars of gold, and unwilling to ever lay eyes them again.

"Hold on… you said that this Mastermind had you 'and three others' trying to break into the vault. If you went in alone, who was there with you?" Veronica asked.

"There were three of us," the Courier started, "The first was a Super Mutant with multiple personalities. Then there was a ghoul named Dean Domino; he was an entertainer. You may have seen posters of him that were put up in theaters before the bombs went off. And then there-"

The Courier cringed and stopped herself. Whatever amount of eye contact she had with Veronica was completely gone now. She stared at the tiles on the floor, wondering if she should continue. She had a piece to the puzzle of Veronica's past, but whether it would fit in the correct spot and bring her a sense of comfort or not fit at all and give her something else to worry about was up in the air. The Courier decided that it was worth a shot.

"And then there was what?" Veronica asked, worried of the Courier's reaction to the thought of this individual.

The Courier built up the courage and blurted, "Does the name Christine Royce mean anything to you?"

Veronica sat still, almost frozen in time. The sound rang through her mind that had not heard the name in nearly a decade. The name was a childhood friend who eventually turned into her first, last, and only lover. Despite the Brotherhood's deep discouragement of homosexual relationships, their relationship lasted until their clans separated. Neither of them could build up the courage to leave their family for the other, so they never saw each other again. But that didn't stop Veronica from thinking about her late at night when she was camped out under the Mojave stars every once in a while.

"Christine…" Veronica gasped, unsure if what she just heard was true. "Where is she? Is she ok? Did she tell you anything?"

"She's ok…now." The Courier said, "She made a passage through the Big Empty where she was lobotomized-"

"Lobotomized…" Veronica said under her breath, "By who?"

"She said the procedures were done by other lobotomites. She doesn't know who did the operation. But I don't think she cares either. I think she likes the scars to be honest. They give her a 'don't fuck with me' look." the Courier said, a faint grin appearing at the ends of her lips, trying to make the situation a little lighter by sneaking in Veronica's signature humor. "Then in the Sierra Madre, she was put into an Auto-Doc, where they cut her voice box out. She couldn't talk the majority of the time that I spent with her, but with a few Vera Keyes holograms- the girl on the Sierra Madre broadcasts, we were able to restore her voice with Vera's. She's ok now. She's fine." The Courier assured Veronica, looking into her eyes for the first time in minutes.

"But where is she now?" Veronica asked, "You pulled off the heist... Wasn't she free to leave?"

The truths became harder and harder for the Courier to tell. "Yes. But she chose to stay behind to warn people of the horrible dangers of the Sierra Madre, and make sure no one else misused it. I tried to make her leave, Vee. I tried..." The courier rubbed her hands down her face in guilt. She had begged Christine to leave as she and Dean did, to begin a new life now that the heist was over. But she refused. There was too much power to be weld here by anyone, and she was going to make sure no one would ever find it again.

"Hold on." Veronica said, confused. "Why would Christine go in search of the Sierra Madre? She was never one for gambling, drinking, luxuries, or heck, even people. Why did she follow the broadcast?"

The Courier's gaze went back to the floor again. Here was another piece of the puzzle that she didn't know where to place. She figured that Veronica deserved the truth. She owed her that much.

"Because she found Elijah."

Veronica almost jumped out of her chair.

"No…wait. Elijah went mad after he deserted you at HELIOS One. He traveled the wasteland in search of something that would make the Brotherhood more powerful than the NCR, the Legion, or Mr. House ever dreamed of being. And he found it: the Sierra Madre. He wanted the dispenser machines, the red fog that poisons everything it comes into contact with, and the security holograms that no one is able to kill. He went crazy. He was the mastermind. He was the one willing to risk all of our lives in order to see his dream become a reality. He was obsessed with the treasures inside the casino." The Courier admitted. "Christine was sent from the Circle of Steel as an assassin. She tracked him through the Big Empty, and to the Sierra Madre." She said as she glanced back to Veronica's eyes.

Veronica was on the verge of tears. She brought both of her hands together and cupped them around her face in shock, so that only her eyes were visible. "What happened?" She managed to whisper.

"I knew how much he meant to you," the Courier assured her, "but I saw what a danger he was to the rest of the world. He and I were in the Vault alone in the end, and we both knew that only one person would be taking the elevator back to the surface. But I thought of you, and I couldn't bring myself to kill him, no matter how many times Christine radioed in for me to 'shoot him in the goddamn face'. So I locked him in the vault. There is no escape. There is no more danger, there is no more Elijah. I'm sorry." she said, her fingers reaching into her leather coat ridden with bullet holes, and grasping a small square parcel.

Veronica finally allowed a few tears to fall. Her lip trembled, and her eyes were ridden with disbelief. This was her mentor, the only person in the Brotherhood after Christine had gone who saw her talent for what it really was. He taught her almost everything she knew, and she absorbed some of his unique ability to be able to look at something and immediately know how it works. He was her role model- until he started becoming obsessive. Now she knew where his dreams of insanity led him.

"So it's true." Veronica sighed. She knew the day he was cast out of the Brotherhood that he would meet his death in his ravenous search of power, and she knew that day would come when she least expected it.

What she didn't know was that the courier had gone through Elijah's bunker after departing from the casino and the villa. While searching his terminal, the courier had found a holotape specifically for Veronica. The holotape could not be accessed again after being read, and the courier did not know how to open it. Giving the tape to Veronica was the only way to know Elijah's last words.

...

The Courier thought about her own journey to the Mojave Express headquarters in Primm when she ventured there for the first time after her incident. She made small talk with the postman behind the counter about her delivery, and he revealed to her that she was one of six couriers to deliver small trinkets to New Vegas. She then realized that this was her place of employment, and therefore, the place where records on herself would be held. She could know everything about her old life right there if she wanted to. She ask about her name, if she was married, who her best friends and siblings were. All it took was one question.

But she didn't ask. Her life now had a purpose with the NCR, friends from all over the wasteland, and it sure beat the life of a courier. If she asked about her old life, what would she find? Would she put those she once loved in danger? Would her old life trump the one that she had now? Would she look back to discover that she was the enemy herself? She couldn't let herself know. She had a duty to her friends, her banner, and herself to track down the wrongdoers and bring them to the one thing she knew she loved- justice. She refused to ask anything about however many previous years she had lived her life, and it was the hardest thing she ever had to do.

...

And it was with this scenario in mind that The Courier decided to not even mention the tape to Veronica. Whatever it contained would have brought nothing but complications to the one the Courier was proud to call her closest friend.

The Courier tucked the tape back into her coat.

"I'm sorry you ended up having more questions than me in this conversation." The Courier said, "I never meant for this to hurt you."

"It's ok," Veronica said, wiping a tear from each eye with her thumb. "You told the truth, and that's what I came for. I'm glad you trust me as much as I trust you. You've been there for me from the start. I wake up some mornings and I still can't seem to grasp that I'm traveling with _the_ Courier." she giggled.

"Stop it..." The Courier said, looking down in embarrassment.

"No, Six!" Veronica said sternly. Even with the slight shaking of her voice from crying, she sounded strong. "_You_ were the one who killed the mighty Caesar in the middle of his own camp. _You_ were the one who took control of New Vegas from Mr. House. _You_ were the one who helped find a cure for the Nightkins' schizophrenia. _You_ were the one who fought Deathclaws willingly in the Thorn to pass time. _You_ were the one who had the guts to shut down the Crimson Caravan and the Silver Rush. _You_ were the one who gave me, and this whole group of outcasts a purpose! There's a reason that we will follow you to Hoover Dam, and it ain't because all of us just love the NCR. It's because we see you as a **_leader_**, and a pretty damn good one at that. I don't march for the NCR. I don't think I ever will. But I will march for you, Six. We all will."

The Courier was taken by surprise. She remained motionless for a few moments, then removed her aviators, set them on a table in front of her, and wiped a tear from her left eye.

"Oh, all in the ten months after you were shot in the head." Veronica finished, trying to make the situation lighter because she was uncomfortable with the Courier's the only tears she had ever seen her friend cry. "Twice."

The Courier paused, wiped one last tear from her eye, and regained her calm composure. She didnt know why Veronica, and everyone else, had stayed with her until that moment. But in all honesty, the Courier didnt feel entitled to anything that Veronica had just told her. They were the ones who abandoned their own lives in order to follow a lonely mail carrier around to her increasingly dangerous adventures. She was the one who felt as if she owed them.

"Do you know what makes me continue? What makes me keep going when I'm sleeping in some cave somewhere knowing that a Legionary pack has been hunting for me all night?" The Courier asked her.

Veronica shrugged. "I'm guessing it's the beautiful, inspiring landscape and the unmatched hospitality of every individual we come across in the desert?"

The Courier smirked at the joke, then said, "It's you. It's the way you stay with me after all you've been through. It's the way Boone stays so loyal to Carla even after her death. It's how Raul kept his vaquero outfit after all these years, because it was the only thing that made his sister laugh after the bombs went off. It's the way Lily, given her state of body and mind, talks about her grandchildren more than anything. It's how Arcade was willing to give up his family armor so someone would be protected just a little more at Hoover Dam. It's the way Rex still curls up at the bottom of my feet to go to sleep. It's how Cass gave up vengeance to listen to her inner voice. It's the way ED-E plays music at the beginning of every fight. It's all of you. You prove to me every day that there is still good in this world. And I'd be nowhere without you."

"I'm sorry that I left you after all of that. I wanted to give you your space, but I never should have taken off like that. I should have been the one on call for you."

"And I never should have gone into the Sierra Madre alone. I never imagined it being what it actually was. But I'm glad in a way that you didn't come with me; you never had to witness it. After I got out, I just had to leave. I didn't want to talk about it, for obvious reasons." The Courier admitted, "I went into Zion. I think it was a park in the Pre-War days. It's beautiful."

"Let's go together there sometime." Veronica smiled. "If I'm still worthy of traveling with of course."

"Of course." The Courier accentuated. She stood up, and embraced a woman with the heart of a two-headed lion. Veronica turned from her grasp after a few minutes, and began walking towards the elevator door. She pressed the down button, and waited for the doors to open.

"She still loves you, you know." the Courier called to the Scribe from the table. Veronica lowered her hand from the elevator buttons, but still didn't look at the Courier.

"She wasn't blindly following orders. She didn't simply go after Elijah because the Elder told her to. She went after him and chased him so ruthlessly because of what he did to you two. It was a crime of passion. This was something she wanted to do. I could tell."

Veronica gently stroked her hand down the elevator door seal. "Will you ever see her again?" she asked.

The Courier shook her head, "I don't think I would go back there for any reason except to bring her back. I would if I could, Vee. I'd live through that hell again if I could take her back with me. But I can never go back to the Sierra Madre. Others can, but I'm marked as a previous guest. I can never return."

The Scribe looked towards the door, the gears and switches in her head turning, calculating the odds of survival outside the world she knew and into the deathtrap of the mythical casino. The Courier looked up, into her eyes, and knew exactly what her thought process was.

"I wouldn't wish my worst enemy to be sent there." The Courier warned her, "But I can't stop you from going yourself. Just make sure you make the right decision."

The elevator bell rang once, and the silver doors opened. Veronica placed her Displacer glove in the doors to hold them open before turning to her friend. "Any advice you have for me?" she asked.

The Courier paused, taking the final sip of her Sunset Sarsaparilla. She didn't know if Veronica was talking about coping with the loss of everything she once had, or going to the Sierra Madre. Nor did she know which destination the Scribe would choose. She could write her friend novels about coping with the death of friends, of not knowing being able to know the outcome of people's lives, and of starting a life that means something. She could fill a terminal about the hunting habits of the Ghost People, the fatal effects the Red Cloud has on the body, and the traps set throughout the villa. She could potentially be seeing the Scribe, her closest friend, for the last time. Yet out of everything she could tell Veronica, she could think of nothing that she wouldn't already know, or figure out quickly for herself.

So she decided to tell her the last thing she heard Christine speak in a voice as smooth as velvet in the suite of yet another object of obsession.

"'Begin again, but know when to let go.'"

* * *

**I do not own any rights to the Fallout series or the song _'Heartaches by the Number'_. **

**Veronica's character is my personal favorite in New Vegas, and I found it a little depressing that no matter what ending you chose, her story never ends in a good way for her. Some ways are worse than others for sure, but none of them are really considered fulfilling for the most innocent and naive character in the game. It's sad really, so her story inspired me to write something that shows how much she really went through in the span of a single game. **

**This is my first try at fan fiction, so I hope you enjoyed! I think this piece is going to be a one-shot, but I'm in the process of writing a series of other vignettes with the Courier and other characters. Reviews are greatly appreciated! Thanks again!**


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